1 Timothy 6:10-11 But you, Timothy, man of God: Run for your life from all this [a life consumed by money-vv. 3-9]. Pursue a righteous life—a life of winder, faith, love, steadiness, courtesy. Run hard and fast in the faith. Seize the eternal life, the life you were called to, the life you so fervently embraced in the presence of so many witnesses. [The Message]

Riding in the car with my 75 year old dad always seems to be quite an education. I think he knows he has me captive and can say whatever he wants until our intended destination is reached. So he does and often takes the scenic route for good measure. For comic relief it’s not unusual for him to electronically lock the doors and look over at me and laugh, now knowing I’m really not going anywhere. Then with a huge breath he launches into a commentary that systematically begins with the great depression and finishes with a second marriage to a woman he met through a dating service. “Of course it all started with the crash of ‘29, he says. “But things didn’t get bad until ’32. And do you know why?”, he asks. I know that question is more rhetorical than anything, but for effect I respond. In part, I humor him because I know growing up poor, going to law school, raising a family, risking and losing and making a fortune once again and all the adventures of life are now simply a memory. He is looking forward only so that he can have another day to look back.

In truth, my dad is amazing. He is honest, loving, generous, humble, protective…the list could continue. However, this is a new found appreciation—I haven’t been able to see who he is until I became a man myself and discovered the awful pressure work, family, finances, and everything in between can create. Unfortunately, my dad wasn’t always like he is today. For the vast majority of his life and mine he was driven by money and security and financial worth. Relationships were not important, but peripheral. Old friends he saw at restaurants were not seen as people that were part of his story, but contacts to call for the future. There was never dinner around the table. In fact, the table was covered with six months worth of the Wall Street Journal. Not a lot of intentional hugs or liberal “I love yous”. Of course, in contrast, there weren’t many rules or spankings or groundings either. I grew up with a father that was distant, and yet living right down the hall.

Several years ago that all changed, almost over night. Two things happened. One, my dad retired. Secondly, he had a massive heart attack. His transformation reminded me of the classic Robin William’s movie, Awakenings. A group of coma patients are given experimental medication and wake up after years of cognitive darkness. And what do they do? They make up for lost time. They dance and drink and love. For my dad, it was as if he woke up. He began to call his grandkids…without prompting. He almost never talked about money or work or the future. He laughed all the time. He would mail me notes just to let me know he was thinking about me. I knew things were different when recently I witnessed him tearing up when he received a hug from my oldest son. He didn’t apologize or get embarrassed, but unabashedly clung to that kid like he was about to run away. My dad loves life. He loves to eat and exercise and kiss his wife. He loves to tell stories and walk on the beach. He really loves life.

In spite of that very vibrant, fully-present kind of affection for life, dad said something today that I will never forget. As he was reminiscing about owning racehorses back in Buffalo in the 50’s and all the money that flowed through his hands, I asked, “Dad, do you miss it?” Without a moments pause he shot back, “I miss it all. I miss it all.” As we slowed down to a stoplight he looked over at me and said as tenderly as I’ve ever seen him be, “Jon, I don’t just miss what I had, but I miss what I never experienced.” Over coffee that morning we were not Father and Son—it was priest and parishioner. The table between us was the confessional and those at Denny’s were the cloud of witnesses affirming what was being confessed. I just sat quietly as my father opened the darkest parts of his soul and confessed that much of his life was wasted. It was wasted over the pursuit of money and not family. It was wasted over building a book and not building the kingdom. It was wasted over time at the office and not time at home. His life is winding down to its conclusion and he knows it.

As dad was taking me back to our condo he looked over at me and said, “I’m glad you’re making your life count.”

Wow! How do I respond to that one? The reason being, most days I don’t feel like my life counts for much. Office, home, office, home, weekends, church, counseling, preaching, office, home, and the cycle continues ad nauseum. There is a rhythm of monotony that does not look sexy and certainly doesn’t feel life-changing. Yet in spite of how I feel or if my personal reputation is being stroked, I know this to be true: I am in control of what I chase after. And today I will chase after what counts most.

Pursue a righteous life—a life of wonder, faith, love, steadiness, courtesy. Run hard and fast in the faith. Seize the eternal life, the life you were called to, the life you so fervently embraced in the presence of so many witnesses. [The Message]